


Like it's 1999

by xtricks



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Backstory, Episode Related, Episode: s02e12 Fragments, Gen, Torchwood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-28
Updated: 2009-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtricks/pseuds/xtricks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the end of a millennia and everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like it's 1999

### Like it’s 1999

Everyone was having too much fun (or planning for the end of the world) to worry about aliens and Jack had taken his time returning to the Hub – he’d taken a few kisses too, along the way. There were a few tourists from the future, a few travelers from Scandalion, all polite enough to be officially ignored, and here for the craziness of the turning millennium. Humans were, as the intoxicated Scandalion intersex told him just before giving Jack a lovely blow-job in an alley, _amazing._ With his hands tangled in sensory spines that were nothing like human hair and rediscovering how much he _missed _sex with non-humans, Jack agreed that he – at least – was feeling pretty amazing. The millennium fireworks going off over Cardiff were a really nice touch to his orgasm.

Eventually, Jack’s sense of responsibility, no matter how he tried to ignore it, tugged him back to the Hub. It wasn’t impossible that the world might try and end tonight; though if any ghosts from 1899 climbed up out of the Rift, Jack was just gong to shoot Alice and spare himself the misery of dealing with her again.

Nick wasn’t in the tourist office, which meant that he was down with everyone else, hunkered in the Hub, maybe a little tipsy by now. Jack shifted the bottle of champagne to his other hand, keyed the lock and headed on down, whistling to himself.

The smell of cordite and blood flooded the elevator long before Jack could get through the door, sending a shuddering rush of adrenaline through him. Yelling, he rushed into the Hub.

Nick was on the floor and so horribly young, gold and green Christmas lights bringing no life to his waxy face. His skin was cold, still soft, under Jack’s fingers when he searched for a pulse. Pointless, he knew it, not with a bullet hole in his temple. Karri was a foot away and Jack’s breath hitched as he touched her; a bloody abdomen and a follow-up shot to the forehead. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been chasing Alex around with the mistletoe.

Jack hauled out his gun, panic drying his mouth as he brushed a hand over Karri’s bloody stomach. _“Alex!”_

Alex was right there, just sitting there; cheers and the New Year’s countdown rattled from the tinny speakers as he watched the TV. “We’re not ready,” he murmured, gun in one hand, some jewelry in the other. He shook himself and looked over at Jack and his eyes were so terribly, terribly sad. “They didn’t suffer, Jack. I made sure they didn’t suffer.”

_“Alex?”_ Jack’s voice broke as he sank down to a crouch, sweeping his gun around with a shaking hand. He couldn’t breathe, the air was thick with death; a stark white sleeve caught his eye, dangling from the catwalk above. Myron. He could see the blood from here.

“What did you do?” He yelled – tried to yell but could barely breathe - and he couldn’t see either, tears welling up, choking him. Jack’s head was ringing with voices, out of tune holiday songs, the way each of them – Alex and Karri, Myron and Nick – had dragged him under the dangling plant for kisses just hours ago. He could still feel that, still taste them. He could feel Karri’s cold, lax flesh under his fingertips too. “God, what did you do? _Why?” _

Jack wailed like a child, couldn’t stop himself, a terrible rush of betrayal twisting through him. Alex was a murderer. He’d killed them all and Jack should – he should shoot him now but Alex was all he had_ left._ “Why?” he begged again. It had to make sense. Jack was sure there had to be a reason.

“I’ve seen it,” Alex said, as if they were continuing a casual conversation - talking about the weather, the Rift, whether a dog or a cat would be a better mascot for the Hub. “The future, Jack, and they weren’t ready.”

“The twenty-first century and everything changes.” He gestured with the gun and Jack flinched, hand twitching on the Webley’s trigger but he couldn’t do it. Alex met his eyes and smiled, gently, as if everything was going to be alright. Jack lowered his gun, believing, still believing.

“Alex –“ Jack reached out cautiously, sweat slipping slickly down his spine as he sidled carefully closer. “It’s not like that, it doesn’t have to_ be _like that, we can –“

“I can’t –“ Alex said harshly, closing his hand around the silver locket. “They couldn’t. I didn’t want them to suffer.”

_“ – five, four, three –“_

“This is yours now,” Alex said, lifting his pistol. “Think of it as a reward for your years of service to Torchwood.”

_“No!”_

Alex gave Jack one last, terrified look, and pulled the trigger.

Blood spattered hot on Jack’s face, he felt bone splinters nick his forehead and the stool clattered over as Alex dropped to the grating, making Jack jump. Fireworks were going off on the TV, millions of people screaming as the old millennium died.

Finally, he staggered stiffly forward and dropped to his knees beside Alex. Blood and brains soaked into his shirt when he gathered him up. He was still warm, half his head was missing. Jack clutched him, rocked back and forth, and howled.

When he was done screaming, when Jack was dry, raw and hollow, Alex was still dead. The blood had dried, pulling like scars on Jack’s face and the Hub stank. Air horns and music were blaring from the TV, until Jack fumbled it off.

It was hard to let Alex go, Jack’s arms creaked like old wood as he let the body tumble to the floor and struggled painfully to his feet. He made a bee-line for the scotch in Myron’s desk and he drank – and he drank – and he drank. He but no matter how much he drank, he couldn’t fill the hole inside; there was nothing but silence.

When Jack woke up the next day, everyone was still dead.

He went to Alex’s office – all the papers had been cleared away, except for a letter with his name on it, laid on the empty desk. Jack ignored it and dug out Alex’s emergency whisky. He drank it – he drank all of it.

When Jack woke up that night, everyone was still dead.

The champagne didn’t even knock him out so Jack used his gun.

When he woke up a few moments later, everyone was still dead.

Everyone stayed dead, no matter what he did. Except him.

Every time.

**END**


End file.
